Not touching.
Not far apart.
Just… existing in the same space.
“Thank you,” Laney says after a moment.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
The words land heavier than they should.
I look down at the baby curled against my chest.
Then back at Laney.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
And in that moment I realize something.
I mean it.
39
Laney
In the morning, the cabin smells like coffee.
And something slightly burned.
I stand in the hallway with my daughter on my shoulder and listen to Saint arguing quietly with a frying pan.
“You’re not supposed to smoke,” he mutters.
I almost smile.
Almost.
The last few weeks have been…
Strange.
Safe.
But not settled.
I still jump at every sound outside.
Still check the windows before I sleep.
Still keep my bag packed by the door.
Saint notices.
He never says anything about it.
Which somehow makes it worse.
